A lesson in grieving
by zachadicthiddlesbatch
Summary: Sherlock has been dead for a year now and John visits Sherlocks grave for christmas. Alternative return. John/Sherlock (It's better than it sounds, really!)


The cold snow crunched under his feet, as John made his way to the cemetry. It wasn't just because it was christmas, he came, because it became a tradition. John visited Sherlocks grave nearly every day, but it still hurt. Every time he thought about Sherlock being dead, lying under the frozen ground, the brilliant mind unused and just - dead - sent him shivers and anxiety up his spine. The freezing air burned on his face, so he buried his face in his scarf. He had always loved christmas, but today he couldn't bear it. He couldn't just sit in his chair, getting presents, drinking alcohol and celebrating, while Sherlock wasn't there. There was something that rested on his shoulders and just wouldn't go away. It pulled him down. Sometimes he couldn't feel it, but other days he threatened to break under the weight on his shoulders. Mrs. Hudson always tried to cheer him up, but John could see, that even she couldn't escape the grief that still lay over Baker Street. There were days she wouldn't come out of her flat and John had to bring her meals, so she wouldn't starve to death. John came back from his thoughts as he reached the black stone. He hadn't had to think for the way, he remembered it blindly. Again, he looked at the golden writing, carved into the black, shining stone. "_Sherlock Holmes"_ These two words caused John to battle the oncoming ache in his heart. He bit his lower lip until it bled, but John didn't notice. "Merry Christmas, Sherlock", John whispered and he felt a single, hot tear for in his canthus. "You know what?", he finally began to speak. "I don't want to go. I don't want to go back to this bloody flat and get drunk, because I can't handle it. I was a soldier, I went to Afghanistan, came back alive, found you and now you're dead. Why? Just - why? Why do you leave me like this? God, I look like a freak, talking to a grave. But let me tell you this. You were my best friend and I will never forget you, even though you may be dead. Just - it's christmas, where is my wish? Because my only wish for christmas is you being healthy and alive. This was my birthday wish, you know? I wanted you to come back and ruin my birthday. To scare off my friends with your deductions. To annoy the hell out of me. Just to come back", John could feel the tears falling. "I never thought I would lose you, without - without you knowing - Hell, why is this so bloody difficult? - I didn't want you to go without you knowing that you are loved. You are loved by so many people and - from all people on earth - I love you the most. Sherlock Holmes, I love you and I can't live knowing I never told you." John had finished and just looked at the grave, before he knelt down and placed a single, red rose in the snow. Just as he turned to return back to Baker Street, he heard a familiar voice from the background. "You just did". John froze at the spot, the tears coming up once again. He couldn't risk turning around and being disappointed once more. This was just a bad joke. But he finally turned around and what he saw, let the tears fall. There he stood. Sherlock Holmes, in his long coat, his scarf, thinner as usual, his hands buried in his pockets. Johns eyes widened, but he couldn't move. The shock took over and John could feel the breakdown coming. The only thing he remembered were Sherlocks long arms, catching the falling doctor. When he finally opened his eyes, he felt cold wood under his back. Then he remembered and sat up way too fast. "Well, that's what I call a dramaqueen", Sherlock murmured and offered John his scarf to place his head on. "You", John whispered. He couldn't decide whether to feel angry or relieved. "You let me grieve TWO YEARS YOU BLOODY IDIOT!", John shouted under tears. "John, please -" "NO! WHY DID YOU COME BACK? HOW DID YOU SURVIVE THIS FUCKING FALL?", John yelled and stared into the detectives eyes. The rage took over and John didn't care about anyone now. He just wanted to know, why Sherlock let him grieve that long. "John, let me explain-" "YOU'RE NOT GOING TO EXPLAIN ANYTHING. I WANT TO KNOW WHY -" Now it was Sherlock to interrupt John. "I love you too, John" John froze and looked into the detectives eyes, in shock. He completely forgot about the fact, that Sherlock heard his speech. About the thngs he had said, not aware that he wasn't alone. He was never alone. "I -" John cut off himself, clutching his arms around Sherlocks neck. He could feel the detective shaking and John understood. Sherlocks slowly released the hug and just stared into Johns eyes. "I'm so sorry, John, I really am. I'm so, so sorry -" John decided to cut off Sherlock, so he leant forward, slowly pressing his lips to Sherlocks. The cold weather was forgotten, being replaced by heat that started taking over Johns body. John felt Sherlocks cracked lips under his own and as he placed his hands on Sherlocks shoulders, he felt the bones under his hands. The kiss seemed to go on forever, but John wanted nothing other. Sherlock loved him. Sherlock Holmes really loved him and John never felt so good in his life before. Forgotten was the "I'm not gay"- attitude, forgotten was the pain of Sherlocks loss, the only thing that mattered now, was Sherlock and him. John slowly released the kiss and looked into Sherlocks eyes. The eyes he always had tried to read, but always failed. Now he could read them. He could see, that Sherlock really loved him. "Merry Christmas, John", Sherlock whispered and pulled John into another kiss, the snow slowly falling and remained lying in their hair, as Johns wish finally became reality.


End file.
